


Last Dance

by Sildae



Category: Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sildae/pseuds/Sildae
Summary: Mandalore has its own pomp and circumstance. Rex is not amused.





	Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skywalking-across-the-galaxy (BadWolfGirl01)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfGirl01/gifts).



> I abjectly apologize for this pure, self-indulgent fluff.

Mandalore culture was a funny thing.

Rex had known the reigning clan had a love of pageantry and circumstance; under Skywalker’s command, he’d frequented Mandalore enough that the various ceremonies were at least not unfamiliar. But Mandalore itself was in pieces now, practically a burning ball of rubbish in the depths of the war-torn neutral areas. So the thought of a welcoming ceremony—really, of _any_ sort of outside formality—wasn’t exactly on his proverbial HUD.

So after Ahsoka’s official promotion, and after the 212th’s initial rank inspection, when he’d been ready to settle in over a holotable and discuss tactics with his new commander, she had turned to him and said, with a little sly smile, “Do you have matching dress whites for that new paint job?”

* * *

It was just so damn _formal._

First a welcoming ceremony, then a state dinner, and now a—a ball? As they’d filed into an even larger hall after the meal, Jesse had leaned close to Rex and muttered, “Did I miss this in the brief, sir?”

Rex had shot him a pointed look.

And now, he and Jesse flanked Ahsoka accordingly as a steady train of titled so-and-so’s filed past, pausing long enough to make small talk and supposedly to keep it from seeming too much like some sort of examination.

Rex ignored the itch at the back of his neck, where the rigid collar of his dress uniform chafed, and forced his jaw to unclench when Ahsoka sent him another questioning glance. _She_ , at least, looked comfortable in loose half-robes and leggings. It was all mostly in stripes of deep blue and deeper blue that complemented and echoed her chevrons, and at least wasn’t the blinding white of _his_ , which reminded him a little too much of that first set of Kaminoan-issue armor, gleaming and unscratched.

It made him feel like a karking shiny again.

The fact that he even _had_ a dress uniform chafed, too. It fit just a little wrong, like they took the dimensions of one poor sop on Kamino, fresh out of training, and applied that size to every brother in the GAR. Across the hall, Rex saw one of his lieutenants pull surreptitiously at his own collar.

Well. At least he wasn’t the only one.

“If we are to meet the necessary quotas,” one of the Mandalorians—a man in a high-collared getup that formed a solid wall of fabric—was saying to Ahsoka, “the Republic will need to send far more raw material. And why was only _one_ company stationed here, when we had requested a batallion?”

Rex bristled internally, knew better than to show it, but spoke his mind anyway. “The 332nd may be a new company, sir,” he said, and the man slowly turned to him, his ornate robes catching the light as he did, “but it is made up of the Republic’s finest soldiers.”

“Their record is impressive,” Ahsoka put in, and Rex noted the edge in her voice. “I’m sure you’ve read the dossier, viscount.”

“Indeed,” drawled a new voice. A swarthy man with pale hair and simple, unadorned robes bowed shortly to Ahsoka, then eyed the other Mandalorian with naked distaste. “More battles than _your_ clan saw in the wars. Hundred times more battles than ever won, surely.”

The viscount curled in on himself and opened his mouth, but Rex ignored him to extend a hand to the new arrival. “Rau. You’re a long way from Kamino.”

“That I am, Captain.” Fenn Rau clasped his arm and nodded briefly. “Good to see you again.”

Ahsoka was saying something to appease the viscount but Rau drew Rex aside. “Not sure what you can do here, Captain. Half the planet is in revolt. Why the Republic thinks—”

“If there’s anyone who can sort it out,” Rex cut him off, “it’s Ahsoka and my men.”

Rau hesitated, then shrugged. “Then we got a hell of a deal.”

Rex blinked at the man. _What in nine hells was that supposed to mean?_

But Rau read his confusion and went on. “From what I heard, the Republic wanted a very specific company here. Yours, Captain. With that Jedi. _Ex_ -Jedi,” he corrected, when Rex opened his mouth. “And the Republic wrote off Mandalore’s debts to get it.”

* * *

  
“So,” Ahsoka said, some time later, sidling up to him. Rex had edged away from the crowds, not that there were that many people in the hall itself. Most of the space was devoted to a rather ridiculous sort of dancing, where couples swooped around in some sort of agreed-upon format. “Want to dance?”

“I don’t dance, sir.”

“Yes, you do. And don’t ‘sir’ me, Rex.”

Rex shot her a look. “No, I don’t.”

“It’s like sparring. Just—without the punching.”

A mental image of knocking out every dancer as they glided by came to mind. Rex smothered a snort. “Yeah, I could see how well that would work out there, sir.”

Ahsoka nearly laughed and caught it behind a cough. “So you won’t even try?”

“Dancing? No.”

But Ahsoka was being unusually persistent. “C’mon,” she said, turning to him. “One hand on my waist, one in my hand.”

Rex stifled a sigh, even as he made the motions. “You should ask Kix.” Her robes were soft and thick beneath his hand, her skin cool to the touch. When her eye markings rose in question, he went on, “He can’t stay away from 79s, whenever we’re on leave.”

“I've seen that kind of dancing. No thanks," Ahsoka said dryly. "So did Rau train you on Kamino?”

The change in subject was so abrupt that Rex eyed her. “No. There were a lot of training sergeants. The _Cuy’val Dar_ —“

“The what?”

“That’s what they called themselves. It’s—Mandalorian.”

“Interesting.” Ahsoka seemed to sense his hesitation, but whatever she was after, she wasn’t going to stop. “Was Rau one of them?”

“Yes. There were a hundred of ‘em, but not all from Mandalore.”

“And now he’s here,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

“Sir?”

“There’s a lot of undercurrent here. Everyone is…” She bit her lower lip and seemed to lose focus, enough that she stumbled in his arms. Rex squeezed her hand. “They’re all on edge, waiting. But very glad we’re here.”

“They better be glad. Half the planet is on fire, and half of that is sand and shouldn’t even be burning, so how they managed _that_ I don’t know.”

“And yet, here we are.” Ahsoka lifted her gaze to the hall around them, the opulence that was so at odds with what he knew was going on just a few thousand kilometers away.

With some surprise, Rex realized they were actually dancing, not just fumbling steps, that Ahsoka had somehow maneuvered him into some semblance of the steady whirl of couples he could see around him. And he realized why—what better way to talk privately than here. "So what do you think? A trap?"

"Maybe."

_"Maybe?"_

She took her time to answer, enough that different lights played different patterns of color across her montrals. "What we find tomorrow, in the wastelands—I think that'll define a lot of our mission here."

"What do you mean?"

But Ahsoka shook her head and Rex recognized the stubborn line between her eyes. Whatever her hunch was, it was too incomplete to share. Rex had been around her and Skywalker long enough to let it drop. “So how do _you_ know how to dance?”

Ahsoka waggled her white brow markings. “I used to be a Jedi, you know.”

“I vaguely remember something like that.”

“Ha, ha. But yeah, we learned more than how to swing a lightsaber.”

“Good thing, since until yesterday, you weren’t supposed to swing a lightsaber anymore.”

Ahsoka snorted. “Glad you have my back, Rex.”

“Always, Ahsoka.” Maybe his voice had changed a little, because she looked up sharply at that, focus fully and directly on him, intense enough to make him uncomfortable. “So, why exactly are we dancing?”

“‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.’”

“What?”

“Some saying.” Ahsoka shrugged. “Maybe Mandalorian?”

Rex shook his head. “That’s a ridiculous. Overeat and drink before a battle? That’s just asking to get killed.”

This time, Ahsoka didn’t bother hiding her laugh. She shook her head at him, eyes bright. “I missed you, Rex.”

Rex hesitated a moment, but there wasn’t any reason to hide the truth. “I missed you, too, littl’un.”

She crooked a smile at him and he took the chance to spin her in a way he’d seen other do, around him, and to think for a moment while they maneuvered across the shining floor. There _was_ an odd undercurrent. A false brightness, a forced happiness in the people around him.

Maybe Ahsoka suspected something. Maybe...

No. Tonight, there was no battle. No explosions, no drop points. His hands gripped her tighter, and her fingers squeezed in response.  _For tomorrow we die._

In a way, he did understand, and let her careful steps guide him.


End file.
